


Just worry about more important things

by Rag



Series: GDTSO [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ableism, Beforan Society, Bulges and Nooks, Crushes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Infidelity, Existential Angst, F/F, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Hand & Finger Kink, Hedonism, Identity Issues, Lack of Communication, Nook Worship, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Quadrant Confusion, Recreational Drug Use, Scissoring, Sexting, Shotgunning, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 18:46:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rag/pseuds/Rag
Summary: what's the raddest girl in the universe to do when her righthand chick and closest pal calls her over for some chill, except go and chill?





	Just worry about more important things

**Author's Note:**

> i dont like doing this in the actual tags so lemme just put it here  
> #everyone is a terrible dumb teenager, #everyone is lying to themselves because everyone is a terrible dumb teenager, #everyone is at least a lil skeevy, #everyone is incredibly bored and staving off a crisis, #struggling with immortality and stasis, #feelings are hard, #feelings while immortal are especially hard
> 
> uhh, referenced past kurloz/porrim and porrim/damz kismesistude
> 
> the idea is that this is a few hundred sweeps into them being stuck in the bubble, and they know they have thousands more before anything relevant happens, but that this will eventually line up with meenahquest stuff

Your name is Latula Pyrope, and you are hella jazzed about everything. You wake up every day with a big-ass smile on your face, especially lately, because there’s just so much sweet shit to get up to. You can meet up with your cool bros and light some sick fires in the forms of flips and rhymes (sometimes at the same time!), you can razz your friends and frenemies about all their totally razz-able traits, you can reminisce about the session. And you can hang out with Porrim, that’s _always_ the best. There’s other shit you can do, too. There’s tons of it! There’s so much to do that you have trouble thinking of all of it sometimes. You have so much time to do everything. You’re going to be a fucking master of so much shit by the time your null session becomes relevant again.

The dream bubble biznasty took a while to get used to, but after the first few sweeps everything chilled out and set into a comfy-ass concrete. Porrim used to stir things up by sleeping with him or her or whoever, but that’s cooled down lately since she did that super rad quadrant dismissal thing. Now it’s understood that it’s no strings, it’s not a quadrant thing, it’s just fun or hot or friends helping friends. It’s totally cool and not quadrant-blurring at _all_ , and you’re all up in it. You’re super happy with it, like, totally thrilled to keep that going with her, just like it is, forever.

Okay, realtalk? Okay, like, maybe, maybe, maybe _sometimes_ you’d like her in your flushed quadrant? Like, a _tiny_ bit. Which isn’t the craziest thing of all time, okay? Way crazier stuff has happened. It’s just something you think about sometimes! Like, ok, in a perfect world, she’d be in your flushed quadrant, and Mituna would still be there, too, or maybe he could be in your pale, or maybe the two of them could wiggle around and switch places every now and then.

End of realtalk, or maybe, begin the actual realtalk now, because this is the dream bubble and Mituna is in your flushed quadrant and Porrim is in that totally sweet nebulous nothing space. Really, it works out great for you two that she rejected the quadrants. That wasn’t always a thing with her, but then she and Kurloz had that wicked nasty spades falling out and she rebounded with Damz, and that was basically exactly as bad as everyone thought it would be, and at the end of it she was all, _I’m just not the relationship type_.

You can get behind that. It’s totally her choice to make! And she’s got all these sick learns to dish out about how the quadrants were forced on trolls regardless of whether they were monogamous or aromantic or what, to box them in and keep them down so that they’re always striving for this crazy difficult ideal that they could never achieve, which meant they had less effort left to overthrow the subtly, insidiously oppressive Beforan regime.

(What you didn’t say when she told you that, what no one here ever likes to think about, is that there’s no more Beforan society to overthrow. It hung in the air that night on Porrim’s bed, and she changed the subject real quick-like afterwards. Because no amount of saved energy or time from quadrant shucking would ever make any of you relevant to anything bigger than their bubble. All there is to do is wait.

And the last time Tuna had one of those freaky prophetic nightmares, he said it would be thousands more sweeps before the _true_ session started. You’ve been here for hundreds already! How much more can you take? But, whatever, there’s really no point in dwelling on that.)

Parenthetical weirdness aside, her quadrant stuff is a huge part of _why_ the two of you work so good together. Like this, you can be friends who dance the wicked hot scandalous quadrant-but-not tango. So you’re hella thrilled to keep it up. You two were always gal pals, and now that you’re gal pals with pails? Fuck yeah. Grubsauce on the triple scoop ice cream sundae, squirt out some more.

You’ve been hooking up more often lately. Like, more days than not? She keeps sending you these messages that are like, woah holla get some raunchy, and you’re _so_ on board. And when you send _her_ some nasty4zz shit, and get back messages like, “ _Yo+u’d better co+me o+ver and clean up the mess yo+u’re making, Tula”_? It’s the most exciting shit to happen to you in like, a zillion years.

You’ve always been pretty horny, right. Like, you and Mituna used to go at it nonstop until a few hundred sweeps into this, and even after it was still pretty often. But lately it’s like a stiff breeze pops your sheath. Like, you just got out of the ablution block for the morning, your hair is still wet, your phone is buzzing her jazzy little vibration pattern, and your pusher is already racing.

GT: Hey, girl. Go+t anything go+ing o+n Friday night?

TA: 1 c4n m0v3 som3 th1ngs 4round 1f 1 n33d to 8)

GT: Go+o+d. Because it lo+o+ks like Meenah and Rufio+h are free, to+o+.

TA: no fuck1ng w444444y, you d1dnt

GT: Didn’t what?

TA: g1rl, d1d you r34lly???? holy sh1t!!!

GT: Yo+u’ll have to+ be mo+re specific.

GT: Do+ yo+u mean to+ ask, did I o+rganize a fo+ur-way and co+rdially invite yo+u alo+ng?

TA: no porr1no 1 w4s just m4d cur1ous 4bout your fuck1ng m4k3up rout1n3

TA: but sh1t g1rl 1f 1’m 1nvit3d th3n 1 gu3ss! ;)

GT: Yo+u’re a do+rk.

GT: Please do+n’t call me Po+rrino+ at the fo+ur-way.

TA: wh4t w1ll you g1v3 m3 1f 1 don’t?

GT: What do+ yo+u want?

TA: oh, you know

GT: Name yo+ur price, yo+u exto+rtio+nist ho+.

TA: hmmmmmmmmmm

TA: w4sh my l4ndry

GT: Go+d, Tula, yo+u co+me up with the ho+ttest things. Ho+w am I expected to+ wait until Friday when yo+u ask me to+…… to+ wash yo+ur laundry?

GT: Fuck, Latula… yo+ur dirty laundry…..

TA: 1t’s r3333334lly d1rty

TA: 1 don’t th1nk you c4n h4ndl3 1t

GT: Mm, Go+dess, I’m sure it is. Tell me mo+re.

GT: Do+n’t actually do+ that.

GT: Really, tho+ugh, I’m so+ glad yo+u said yes.

TA: y34h?

GT: Yo+u’re so+ much fun. Meenah and Ruf are great, but playing with yo+u is such a treat.

And that! That _right_ there! Is the kind of thing that drives you fucking crazy.

In a good way, totally. She’s such a flirt. You sometimes wonder if quadrant play is a kink for her, but you don’t ask, because that would be weird. You could totally see it, tho. She’s so crazy.

Gosh. You never really know what to say to this stuff. You don’t know if she does that to everyone. Probably! But you’ve never gotten around to asking because that’d be weird and kinda creepy, and if there’s two things you’re not, it’s weird and creepy! And then you realize you’ve left Porrim on read for a little too long after _that_. She’s typing something new, and she gets it out before you can publish your frantic response.

GT: Getting flustered, ho+rnet?

TA: porr1no you ho you r34lly know how to g3t 4 g1rl blu3 1n th3 f4c3

GT: And the bulge, ho+pefully.

Cool, okay. That’s less flushed and more just, fucking around, like chicks. You can handle meaningless pail flirting. And the image of her on her knees for you, knowing how she gladly does that for you, any time you ask, like even without warning, she’ll do it, like she gets off on being available for you like that, at your whim- woah, okay, cool it! You’re in the middle of a conversation!

TA: porr1no you fuck1ng m1nx, c4lm down g1rl!!!!

GT: Is that what yo+u want fro+m me? To+ calm do+wn? Instead o+f yo+ur laundry?

GT: It’s go+ing to+ take a little mo+re than so+me mild admo+nishment to+ relax me right no+w.

GT: Realtalk, no+t fucking aro+nd, I’ve had so+me time to+ think abo+ut yo+u taking two+ bulges at o+nce and, well.

GT: {If yo+u want to+, o+f co+urse.}

GT: {I think yo+u’d have a lo+t o+f fun.}

GT: Anyways, are yo+u busy?

GT: I’ve go+t so+me so+po+rweed and music with yo+ur name o+n them if yo+u can get away fo+r a few.

You… are busy. Your higher brain understands this, but. Well.

You know, you’re busy at a certain point in the day, later today, whenever it is that Tuna actually wakes the hell up. He sleeps so late! It kills you. But the two of you are supposed to hang out with Kurloz and Meulin tonight. And that’s fun! A little bit less fun than smoking and hooking up with Porrim, but, it’s fun. But. Hmm.

TA: hold on g1rl l3mm3 work my m4g1c 4nd ch3ck my pl4nn3r

GT: O+h?

You look over in the direction of your bedroom, like that would tell you anything. Yes, Latula, he’s still sleeping. It’s about 12. He usually wakes up around 3:30. The four of you are meeting up at 4. No, you know what? You can totally swing out for a few and have plenty of time. You can probably even be back before Mituna wakes up.

It’s not like you _have_ to be back before he wakes up. You’re not sneaking around, you wouldn’t do that. He knows you and Porrim hook up. He gets it. It’s just fun! He knows you wouldn’t mind if he hooked up with someone else, as long as it wasn’t a quadrant thing, not without talking to you first. You two are super trusting and shit. But it’s just, it’s kind of weird talking to him about it sometimes so it’s easier if he just doesn’t know exactly _when_ it happens?

TA: y34h 1 c4n pop ov3r for 4 wh1l3

GT: O+h, go+o+d. I was starting to+ wo+rry yo+u’d say no+ and I’d have to+ deal with this Pro+blem all alo+ne.

TA: n4h b4b3, not unl3ss sh1t w4s cr4zy cr1t1c4l

Did you just say that? You just said that. You watched your ignorance prong hit send the second you realized what a creep you are. What the fuck is _wrong_ with you? That sounds _way_ too flushed. Good one, Latula! May as well just ask her to hold hands and build a nest while you’re at it.

TA: you’v3 got th3 d4nk3st soporw33d 1n th3 un1v3rs3

TA: 4nd you k1nd4 just g4v3 m3 4 W1CK3D bon3r

GT: That was the idea.

GT: I also+ have the best music in the universe.

TA: y3p

GT: I’m right.

TA: no y34h sur3

GT: Get yo+ur ass o+ver here so+ I can wipe that smug lo+o+k o+ff yo+ur face.

TA: y34h g1mm3 4 f3w

You close your phone and get ready, quietly, so you don’t wake him up. You’re cutting it kind of close with the paledate, but you’re not cutting it _that_ close. And as long as you keep track of the time, no one will have any problems, everything will be fine. You leave a little note, just in case he wakes up early.

_h34d1ng to por’s, b3 b4ck 4round 3. t3xt m3 wh3n u w4k3 up? lov3 you b43! 8*_

*

Porrim opens her door a crack and you can’t not smirk. She keeps her place so darkly lit, and it’s a massive contrast to the stupidly bright sun in dream bubble daytime. She’s got these blackout curtains that totally kill the sunlight, and the only light in the room comes from a few soft lamps she puts around the floor. But your eyes aren’t adjusted for those yet, and it’s like she’s opening a portal to a black hole or an alternate shadow dimension. She squints at you and shields her eyes.

“What?”

“You’re the fuckin’ crypt keeper in your tomb.

She straightens out and blinks at you, exaggerated. “First of all, ableist. As a ghost, it’s my natural disposition-“

“Oh my god, let me in.” She laughs and opens the door farther for you. God. Kanrki has been on a real “ableism” kick lately and it’s driving you both fucking nuts. Like, it’s not that you don’t think it’s a real thing. It totally is. But it’s not what he says it is. He’s just blatantly applying it to everything that makes him uncomfortable. Porrim is ableist for wearing revealing clothes. You’re ableist for holding hands with Mituna in the park. Mituna is ableist for yelling too loudly when Cronus harasses him. And that stupid fuck can talk his way out of anything and run these inane verbal circles around you- oh, woah, you’re getting some pitch rushes just thinking about it, ew. Banish him from your mind, girl, he’s got no place in the house of dank.

Porrim pulls you to the couch. “I’ve been experimenting with the recipe,” she says, low and excited.

“You crazy cat. Is it safe?”

She laughs, too hard. “What can it do to us now?”

You narrow your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Don’t worry, it’s just a few herbs to make it sm- taste better.”

“Sm-taste?”

She rolls her eyes and looks embarrassed. “Cram it.”

“What’s it sm-taste like?” You’re being a smartass because it’s weird, and it never isn’t weird, and when it’s this particular kind of weird, you act like an asshole (maybe you could stop doing that). But you’re kinda touched that she’s trying and catching herself since you told her it kinda bummed you out. She’s, like, wicked into perfumes and scents and shit and, yeah, but it’s cool! It’s cool.

“Like a surprise.”

 “Really, what’s in it? I can’t get too fucked up, I got shit with Tuna later.” You leave out the part about Kurloz, you don’t need to tell her _everything_.

“Tula and Tuna,” she hums softly. Uh, okay? “You trust me, don’t you?”

Your breath catches in your throat and for a flash, you struggle to keep your cool. Then you get it back. Cool, cool. She doesn’t mean it like _that_ , she’s just talking normal trust, like, trusting that your best bud didn’t drug the cig in a crazy way. Friend trust.

“Totes,” you say. You sound super radical, super cool. Maybe a little _too_ radical? Better than being all choked up and weird.

“It’s just some cocoa powder mixed in.” She smirks. “I kinda want to tell Cronus it’s shrooms and see if he hallucinates.”

Your eyes widen. “Holy shit, that’s wicked.”

“Right?” she says, grinning impishly.

“Por, don’t, you fucking goblin.”

“Why not?”

“Por.”

She rolls her eyes, still smiling. “Yeah, I won’t. But you know he would.” She starts trying to light her lighter.

“Yeah, of course he would. He’d see shit if you gave him grass off the ground and told him it was juju.”

She snorts and the lighter extinguishes. “Don’t make me laugh, bitch, I gotta light this.”

Some nasty flushthought passes your mind lightning fast about how you’d much rather make her laugh than smoke all the sopor in the world, but you’re a fucking pro and letting that shit go. See it, wave hello, let it go, because it’s hella weird.

She draws the smoke into her lungs. It burns a little more than usual in your eyes, which is probably the cocoa powder. She doesn’t pass it to you. She doesn’t exhale.

“Uh, you gonna keep it in there forever?”

She smiles lazily at you and leans over. Oh. Oh, she’s doing this. Your bulge stirs in anticipation. She showed you this just a few wipes ago and it still makes your heart race.

Her thumb brushes your lower lip, catches against the wet membrane inside your mouth as she leans closer. You open for her. She brushes your lips just shy of kissing and blows the smoke slowly into you. Heavily-lidded eyes watch you as you breathe it in. No makeup today. The soft smoke starts to burn your lungs. You don’t care. You can feel the temperature of her skin in the air around you, and the little push of air as she exhales, and every moment that you spend not kissing makes you want it that much more.

Your bulge wakes up. Your bulge wakes the fuck right up. It’s amazing how fast she can do that to you. Hi, buddy.

And in a snap, it’s over. Porrim leans back and hands you the cigarette. You close your eyes and hold it until your head spins, then breathe out.

Music starts up from the other side of the room, and Porrim sets a remote down. It’s her music, one of the slow, pulsing, wordless ones that are on the edge of sexy and deeply hopeless. You’ve heard it maybe thirty times before. It’s a good album.

“You should bring your shit over sometime. Tuna’s, too.”

“What, my music?”

“Yeah. This is the only album I can stand lately.” She looks away and rolls her eyes. “Everything is so fucking old.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You’ve heard it maybe thirty times, but she listens to music constantly. God. How many thousands of plays. “I’ll make copies for you.”

She perks up. “Fuck yeah. I’ll eat you out for, like, four sweeps straight.”

“Holy shit, straight?”

“Do you want it intermittent?”

“Mm, yeah. Every 15 minutes, five minutes at a time, for the next four sweeps. Deal?”

She laughs. You take another drag. The smoke tastes sharper than usual, and reminds you of that that time, god. That one time, you were on this _really_ sharp stuff, at a party, and…

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, low and deep, as you hand her the cigarette.

You exhale. “Rufioh’s party.”

She smirks. “You know, that’s when I learned how freaky you were.”

“ _I’m_ freaky?”

“Mm.” Her lips wrap around the paper, and you know she knows what she’s doing, like she knew what she was doing then. It wasn’t too long after you started whatever _this_ is, and she was all, licking her lips and looking at you, drawing the smoke in so carefully, darting her tongue out. There were people around. Almost everyone was there, except Kankri, because Kankri refuses to have fun.

“You absolutely started it.”

She gives you a look. And you know what she’d say if she wasn’t full up on toxic smoke that does nothing but fuck you up anymore, because you can’t kill the dead.

_You finished it._

Yeah, you did. You whispered in her ear, right then, some hella embarrassing shit about like, ugh, how watching her mouth like that was such a tease. And she grabbed your wrist and took you to the bathroom and locked the door and, well, until you pailed all over her face. And then fingered her in the tub. And then frantically washed her genemat out of the it as Meenah pounded on the door and called a variety of names you’d never heard before for hogging the bathroom when she had to take a dump.

“It was a team effort. The sickest teamwork.”

She nods and hands you the rapidly-diminishing blunt.

 “You know why I was fucking with you at the party?” she says, letting the smoke escape her as she talks.

“Why?”

“Wanted to see what you would do.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You’re so charming, Por. You’re getting me all kinds of flustered.”

She glares at you. “What? I was curious.”

“You’ve always been a slut for knowledge.”

“And it was cute.”

“What?”

“You were adorable.” You’re really glad that she goes on instead of making you respond to that, because now she’s actually getting you flustered. “Looking around like you thought you were imagining it. Or did you think I was doing that to everybody there?” She purses her lips and speaks low in her throat. “ _Hey, Horuss, you looking for a good time with a find young jade-blooded woman?”_

You laugh. “Oh my god, stop.”

“But yeah, that was great. We should do it again.”

“You’re out of control.”

“You’re radical, you can take it. Oh, shit, Tula, smoke that before it burns out.”

Oops. It’s so easy to talk with her, you forgot all about it. You take another drag. The sopor is really starting to work at you, and you just want to touch her. It’s kind of hard to keep the smoke burning in your lungs as you straddle her lap, but you manage.

“Hello, hornet,” she says with a sleepy, blissed-out smile on her face.

You hover your lips over hers and blow. She smiles and grabs your head, sucks the smoke out of you. She doesn’t bother to hold it. She leans forwards and seals your lips together and lets it drift out of her, lazy and uncontrolled from between your mouths. The cool metal of her piercing rubs against your lip, but she’s careful with it. Her tongue finds yours and teases you, with that hard metal stud that she likes to press against your throbnub, and her taste makes you shiver deep in your core.

It’s hard to force yourself to remember the lit cigarette in your hand. It’s hard to not get totally lost in her tongue and her lips and her crazy teeth, the way her hands squeeze at the chub around your hips, the sweet ache between your legs and the mess you already feel between hers. And when you open your eyes, you see that her skin is glowing that soft white it does when she… when she’s really happy.

Eventually you force yourself to pull back. The sopor is fucking you up, and you don’t want to literally forget this thing and let it drop on the couch and light the whole place on fire. You take a long drag and then hand it back to her, and try not to get lost in the way her bulge is undulating just enough that you can feel it on yours, knowing that a few layers of fabric are all that’s keeping the two of you from tangling and filling. She makes it hard.

“Give it here, Tula.”

You try to focus on her. That last hit was a mistake, hoo boy. You were already high, idiot, that’s not the time to smoke _more_ when you have somewhere to _be_ in three hours.

…You don’t care enough not to hold it.

“That last one got you, didn’t it.” She’s smiling too wide, all gorgeous and sexy and glowy. Your little glowstick (dudet, no, chill out). She’s so fricking adorable like this, so giddy that she can’t tamp down how good she feels. She’s got a lot of shit to be sad about and she’s pretty bummed and angry a lot of the time. It’s so _good_ to see her happy and relaxed.

You nod. You don’t tell her, and you won’t ever tell her, that it’s mostly her. Getting high with her makes you feel alive in your body and mind for the first time, makes the rest of your life seem like greyscale. You know, like a really good friend does?

She showed you how to make soporweed. You could definitely make your own. You did, a few times, and ended up just staring at the wall of your respiteblock, laughing about nothing. Mituna had to help you get up and laughed his ass off about it. You shared some with him and the two of you watched old movies and laughed a lot and made out and fell asleep. He was more relaxed than usual, which was super rad and you’re jazzed as hell that he found something that does that for him, but on the whole it was just kinda dumb and not all that memorable.

With her, though? It’s like it sets your skin and blood on fire. She makes it an experience. You’re breathing it and you’re breathing her and you swear you can feel her heartbeat through her skin.

That’s the soporweed talking. What does that even mean?

She plucks the blunt from your fingers with her long, spidery fingers. You could watch her just play with her hands for hours, they’re so pretty.

“You totes coulda been a hand model,” you tell her. It’s important that she knows.

She snorts.

“What?”

She smirks at you. “Don’t tell anyone this shit. No one.”

“Ooooh, what?”

“I wanted to be one.”

Your eyebrows rise way too high.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Isn’t modeling a little… exploitative for you?”

“Pff, fuck off, I was 4 sweeps old.”

“Oh, shit, whatever, then. When I was 4, I wanted to be a fuckin’ arbiter.”

“What the fuck? You?”

“Hella. Bringing down the _law_ on those big bad jerks.”

She gives you a look you can’t read.

“What?”

“First of all, you know that’s fucked up?”

“What?” You do your best to look confused. “Is the Beforan justice system fucked up?”

“Ok, smartass-“

“Assigning punishments based on caste is fucked up? Porrim? Is it? Is it fucked up?”

She laughs and it’s like bells in the air, and it wrinkles the skin around her eyes. She has the best laugh. “God, fuck off.”

“Second of all?”

She looks at you hesitantly. “What if I applied for modeling shit when I was, like, 7?”

“When you were _7?!”_

“Don’t you tell a fuckin’ soul. Don’t. I’ll never give you soporweed again.”

“Don’t tell anyone that you wanted to be a hand model when you were _7_?! Porro, everything I knew about you is a lie.”

“Go back to smoking and telling me I’m hot,” she says, and pushes the cigarette between your fingers. You force yourself not to laugh long enough to take a long drag. You probably shouldn’t, you’re already pretty fucking gone, but fuck it.

Oh. Oh, yeah, that was. A little bit of a lot right now. You close your eyes as it rushes you all at once. You feel the sopor warming you up from the tips of your fingers down to your toes, holy _shit_ you’re high, you’re really fucking high, it’s a good thing you can’t OD on soporweed because you’d let her kill you twice.

You feel the cool touch of her fingers take the cigarette and then she leans away. Why. Oh, you watch her, blearily, as she stubs it out on her little hard clay ashtray.

Her fingers in your hair, pulling you closer. Her silky voice pulling you down to earth. Your brain parses out meaning from what she says.

“Give it to me, hornet,” she says.

You blow it into her. One last time. You gotta wait until she’s done. You already want it. You want to feel her skin on yours everywhere your bodies can touch. You hate waiting.

Smoke around you. She tugs your hair again and kisses you out of your mind and back into your body. 

Her hands are _everywhere_. It’s like she has four of them _._ She plays with the base of your horns while she runs her palm and the tips of her claws gently up your torso, under your shirt and just a little cool against your skin. You get goosebumps when she traces around your spheres. And then she finds your grubscars and rubs them just, fucking right, because she knows what you like and she likes doing it for you, which is blowing your mind right now for some reason? She wants you as bad as you want her, woah nelly reaganomic.

You tug at her insanely thick, gorgeous hair and she groans. You’ve hardly been touching her back, have you. Greedy Tulip. Just grinding your hips together and soaking up all her attention. That can change. That needs to change.

Except, it’s hard from this angle for you to get your hands on her skin. You try, and you can’t figure out how to make your hands work to push her shirt up without stretching it out. For the first time, you regret getting stupidly fucked up, because this shouldn’t be giving you so much trouble. You feel so clumsy and weird compared to her, especially when you’re baked.

“Help a sis out?” you ask, waggling your eyebrows.

She laughs, low and deep. “Tuley, fuckin’ giant dork.”

She leans forward and pulling the shades off your face. Oh, oops, did you forget to take those off? She’s so thoughtful. You’d be all kinds of bummed if you broke those.

Without the ruby, you can see that she’s glowing more than just a little. You wonder if she realizes. Probably, how could she not? She usually gets embarrassed about it, but maybe she doesn’t care anymore. And then, she takes off her shirt, and you get to look at it in total unadulterated OLED 4K 3D.

Of course she’s not wearing a bra. She’s probably not wearing underwear. You’ll find out soon.

(oh, she skipped it because she knew you were coming)

It’s not like she covers up all that much normally, but when she’s naked you can see just how far her tattoos run. She got most of them when you were all alive, which was super badass, and then she proceeded to figure out how to make tattoos and get _more_ in the bubble. You want to ask her to give you one someday. You know she’d be down. You’re trying to think of a design that won’t make you cringe in a thousand sweeps (or tomorrow)

You love how the ink swirls around her like shadows, or like lace, or like ropes or snakes. It’s probably weird dreambubble stuff, but you swear they’re just as jetblack as they were before you died. You run your fingers along one of them that snakes around her spheres. Her skin still glows under them, but softer.

“It’s like you put curtains on your lamp.”

“I what now?”

“It glows a little softer here.” You follow the trail down the side of her torso and she shivers. The glow dims a little. “Oh, no, don’t do that. Come back.”

She looks away, and you can really see the embarrassed flush in her cheeks when her skin glows beneath it. “It’s weird.”

“Hella. It’s cute.” Kind of like a barkfiend wagging its tail? But you’d never say that to anyone, especially her, because holy shit Latula get just a little more condescending? But it’s just. She can’t control it, it means she’s happy, you troll-pavloved yourself into associating it with her laughing or waking up from a good dream or getting into some good foreplay.

“Stop gawking and get naked.”

You get all self-conscious outta nowhere. Silly as hell. She’s seen your body all kinds of times in all kinds of ways at this point, but it’s still hard to just throw your clothes off like she does. How does she do that. The only thing she’s self-conscious about is the glow.

“Hell yeah, totally tubular,” you say as happily as you can manage. Because you’re a super rad coolgirl and you can get naked like an empowered individual, hella?

“Hun, you can drop the radgirl thing. It’s just me.”

And you feel even more naked, because there it is again, that shit that’s _way_ too flushed for what you are to her. Does she know she’s doing it? Does she realize? Sometimes you wonder, even though that’s ridic. Like, she has to know, right? What if she wants you to-

What the fuck are you thinking? No. She’s being a good friend and she knows the super confident radgirl thing is a front and she’s trying to make you comfortable. She’s a good friend.

(But, can you totally drop the front around her? Is that possible? What’s left of you? She can’t really want to see that, can she? But she does, somehow, she seems to like you _more_ when you drop it, and it’s hard and alarming but it feels so good so maybe you just. drop it)

“Yeah, my bad,” you say. You pull your shirt over your head and then gasp when she mouths at your spheres. She doesn’t even wait until you get it over your head, fucking wildcat. She drives you shithive maggots. Her hands find your scars again and it’s like her perfect fingertips are tapping and tugging a line that goes right to your nook. You force your body to function enough to get your shirt up, over your head, on the floor, there you go, then you push her down against the couch and keep her there. She gasps into your mouth and writhes against your weight.

You feel the soft, constrained violence of her bulge thrashing against yours. It’s seeking you out. It knows your nook is right there, with just a few thin layers of fabric between you.

Fuck, you forgot to get naked, didn’t you? Fuck it. Inhibitions are so yesterday, so you slide down on your knees and spread her legs.

“Oh, fuck, Tula.”

“Mm?” You look up at her and wish you had some way of hanging onto the way she looks right now, from this angle. She strokes your hair as you kiss her knee.

“You gonna eat me up?”

“Like I’m starving.” Oops. That wasn’t very cool of you, and you’re almost nervous she’s gonna make fun of you, but she just gasps and encourages you with this soft little _yeah, babe, please_. It continues to blow your mind that she really doesn’t care if you drop the cool thing? That she honestly seems to want you to? So wild.

You slowly hike her skirt up over her tattooed legs and watch the green flush rise on her cheeks. Her bulge is soaked and bright, and you can see her nook open and waiting for something to fill it. You lean forward and swirl your tongue over the tip of her bulge just long enough to tease before scooting down to her nook. Her noises are ambrosia to your ears. You hear them echo through you as her thighs clamp around your head. You literally feel her voice in your core. All is right with the world. Except that your bulge is going to fucking implode, but that can wait.

You stroke her bulge slowly and smile as it oozes thick and full into your hand.

“You’re so ready, aren’t you?” She really must have been ready to go before you got here, her genemat is outrageously abundant right now. More things you shouldn’t tell her, but probably will someday: her genemat glows in the dark and it’s by far the most radical thing you’ve _ever_ seen.

“Fuckin’ told you,” she says, and you can’t see her face anymore over her skirt but you think she sounds shy. It’s cute.

You trail your tongue around her nook and you can feel it spasm. You could finger her, and you probably will, later, but you want to hear what sounds she makes when she really _needs_ it. She loves it when you make her wait like that. She’s so kinky.

 “Tuley, baby, please,” she says, strangled.

Nah. You kiss at the heated skin, warmer with blood than the rest of her, and flick your tongue against the hole. It flutters trying to suck you in.

She moans brokenly. “Latula! Come on!”

Your bulge is really gonna implode at this rate. Like, it’s probably almost there. You’re not sure if you can actually sustain an injury in ghost form. Mituna was alive when-

No, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you, you’re eating out Porrim literally right fucking now. At least that kills your bulge a little, haha.

You give her a few more of those teasing licks around her lips, savoring how her folds feel against your tongue. You dip closer, drinking in her moans of _please please please please_. And when you’re sure she thinks you’re going to pull back, you lick into her.

You wish you could record the sound she makes when you finally give her that, too. And the way she arches before going totally relaxed against you, and her fingertips dig into your scalp. You unzip your pants before your bulge falls off. Maybe she hears you unzip, or the slick sounds of your hand rubbing against it. Maybe she feels your satisfied moan against her throbnub. That’s probably why she pulls you up and kisses you.

“Off, now.” She tugs at your pants.

You wiggle you way out of them and pull her skirt off before settling back into her lap. Your bulges find each other immediately, like they were made to. Your eyes roll back as she curls around you. Oh, fuck, she’s making it work for her, she’s not just letting it do its own thing but making sure to pulse against you and slide all over you.

“Like that?” she asks you. You shudder.

She pushes you on your back, her soft skin all over you, her spheres pressing into you and your bulges twined together tightly.

“Porrim, fuck.”

“Open your legs.” You do it. You don’t know what she’s planning but she knows a lot more about weird kinky pailing techniques than you.

And then she’s pulling away. “No, come back,” you whine.

“Hold on, just gimme a second.”

She holds you open and slots her hips against yours, and then she’s just. Sinking her bulge deep inside of you. You gasp and get lost in how big and soft and cool, every time, hits every tender, secret spot you have, it’s perfect. And then she’s stroking your bulge, pulling you, guiding you, what, oh, oh, fuck-

She groans and rocks her hips, pulling your bulge inside of her, and her bulge is buried in your nook and shit, fuck, this position goes to your head so fucking fast and she knows it. You struggle to keep your eyes open to watch her and the way she moves. Her eyes are clouded with pleasure and a sheen of sweat covers her skin, and she’s glowing soft green and white, and it’s all you want to look at forever but you. Can’t. There’s too much in you. You can’t think over the drugs and sex coursing through your veins, your body won’t work. You just lay back and close your eyes and get lost in the feelings. You let your body take over. You move your hips and moan and listen to her.

“Fuck, yes, Tula, that’s it.”

You can’t form words. How is she forming words. Your tongue is fat and useless in your mouth. She says something about how hot you are right now, all fucked up, nit you can barely follow it. Your bulge whips around in her, takes its pleasure in the way she squeezes and tugs. She pushes in a little too deep and her tip pokes at your seedflap and you almost lose it right fucking there. And the normal response would be to, like, back off at that point? But Porrim is a depraved sex maniac, so she just.

“Yeah? Like that? Right there?”

“Iii, nn-“ you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. She grabs your hips and pulls you into her, hard against her bulge, flutters against that spot rapidly.

“Por, Por-“

“Yeah, come on.”

And well yeah, you pail all over her goddamned couch like a weirdo.

Then you make her pail all over her goddamned couch (and your fingers, and your mouth) like a weirdo. It evens out.

You’re fucking exhausted. You don’t know how she has the energy to take the cover off the couch and pull you back down. It scratches your bare skin, but you don’t give a dang. You look at the pile of soaked clothes and sheets the two of you made in wonder.

“How much laundry do you do?” you ask her, because if any sponge-to-flap filter was left after the sopor, it drained out of your bulge.

She laughs. Heh. Success.

“I fuck your brains out and you ask me about my laundry?”

“It’s important,” you say, even though you both know it’s not. “Probably a ton, right.”

“Why would it be a ton?”

“Because you pail all over your couch like some kind of pervert all day, every day.”

She smirks and holds in a laugh, which twists her face up all goofy and cute. “Latula… I really think I might be a pervert.”

“No!”

“Really.”

“Porry, no. There’s no way.”

“Tulip. Really.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’m so fucked up.” And she leans closer to you and kisses you deeply.

God. She really. Well, yeah, that’s why you’re joking about it, but shit she’s so fucking kinky with the quadrantplay. And you’re so on board with it all. You kiss her, and she wraps her arms around you, and you kiss until you get your breath back, and then some.

Then, suddenly, she pulls away. “Shit, didn’t you have to do something?”

Your heart freezes in your chest and you look at the clock. And relax.

“I’m good.”

“For how long?”

“Like a whole hoooour.” Maybe a little less, but you’ve got time to kill. Tuniepie’s not even up yet.

“You gonna stay here until then?”

“And listen to your sic-“ you bite off some dumb shit like _your wicked sick tunage_ and just, “music?”

Porrim smiles lazily. You can’t stop your eyes from traveling down her body to the slightly stirring bulge between her legs and your fucking color dripping from her nook.

“Or something.” She wraps her arms around you and kisses you.

You lose track of time like that. You even forget about how next-level this pseudo-quadrant shit is. It’s just her, sweaty and relaxed and glowing soft and bright in your arms, and it’s got you feeling some kinda way. You never want to let her go. It’s like your bodies were made to fit together just like this. It’s totally natural, quadrants or none. It’s just sex, it’s really good sex and post-sex cuddling, and the warmth in your chest is just physiological hormones.

Some part of you wonders what she’s getting out of this. You’re both spent and drained and it’s…  It’s just kissing. Naked. Horizontally and while holding each other after having sex. It’s… it doesn’t _have_ to be inherently flushed. But what if, what if she’s getting something different than you are, and you’re being a creep-

“What are you thinking about?” she asks. “I can feel your brain frying from here.”

“Are you enjoying this?” you ask, before you can even think better of it. Stupid. Too high to think better. Too high to filter it. Agh.

“You know I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t.” She stares at you. “Stop worrying, it’s not a quadrant thing. You know I don’t do quadrants, and you’re as full as you wanna be on yours. It’s just fun. It’s not cheating, Tula, it’s just messing around. You’re fine.” She strokes your hair soothingly.

Well, of course it’s not a quadrant thing. That shouldn’t wrench your gut like it does. No, it doesn’t. Nah. It’s good.

You make yourself chuckle. “I know _that_ , Por.”

She smiles sadly at you. “Then what are you so worried about?”

“Nothing,” you say, and you mean it. What’s there to worry about? You just overthink everything. Just let your bodies think for your big dumb thinkpan. Everything’s great and perfect when you just do that. She kisses you again, and you stop talking. It doesn’t matter if it’s flushed or not. It’s fun, she’s having fun, you’re having fun.

She kisses you again, but then pulls away. “I gotta tell you how I got Rufioh to agree without dragging Horrus’s stanky ass.”

“Oh yeah, how the fuck?”

She tells you, and that gets you talking about what the fuck Rufioh is doing with him in the first place, and that gets you talking about whether or not Kankri is going to stick to this weird celibacy thing, and that gets you talking about the meaning of sex in Beforan society and how it’s still dripping into your bubble even after it’s long gone.

And you don’t know why, but you feel like you could talk to her for the rest of eternity and never get bored. It’s effortless. It’s like breathing.

And then you hear Mituna’s phone pattern buzzing from your pants, on the floor.

Your muscles go rigid as you look at the clock. You have. About 15 minutes before the date. It takes half that long to get there. And you’re blazed out of your mind.

“Oh, fuck!”

She rolls over so you can get off the bed. “Shit, are you late for the thing?”

You text him back, telling him you’ll meet him there. “No, it’s in 15 minutes, I can just-“ you say as you start putting your clothes on.

“Oh, hun, wait.”

“What?”

“You’re reek like sopor and genemat.”

You go still. “Oh.” Yes. You do, don’t you. People will know the second they get a whiff of you what you’ve been doing for the last four hours. Oh my god, how did you lose four entire hours? Kurloz, in particular, will know what you’ve been doing, because you’re going to his hive. Oh, that would be really fucking bad. Like, he knows about you two, well, he must, he’s Mituna’s moirail, but maybe you could not actively smell like his ex’s jizz when you hang out with him in his own hive, like a flaming bag of trash?

And you’re going to be late, because you have to run home first to wash off. Fucking, god fucking dammit, how are you so bad at this? You had an hour. You absolutely should have left then. She reminded you. How hard would it have been to not fucking- and now it’s a _thing_ , you chose her over Mituna, and it’s the start of the end, because now it’s out there, it’s a thing you did, there’s no going back-

“Fuck! Shit! Fucking-“

 “Babe, calm down. Use my ablution block.”

“Oh.” All of your panic dissipates. You look at her and laugh, a little wildly. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” God. Idiot. She really, seriously just saved your ass, telling you that you stink and letting you use her block. You lean forward and kiss her. “Thank you so much, I’d be fucking trash without you looking out for me.”

She laughs. “Go shower, fuckin’ nerd.”

And it’s only in the shower before you realize what a fucking freak you are, what weird shit the two of you are up to, again. It’s like every time you see her it edges a little farther into this weird not-flushed mystery zone. Her looking out for you, showing you mercy like that-

Agh. Overthinking again. If only that was a useful skill to develop, because fuck knows you’re spending enough time doing it. By the end of the next few thousand sweeps, you’re not going to be able to fucking move because you’ll overthink everything you see so much that you’ll be paralyzed by a strong breeze.

You hurry up and wash off, get dressed (she gathered your clothes off the ground and put them in the bathroom for you, and like that wasn’t enough, she also lent you a pair of clean underwear because yours are soaked. what the fuck, what the _fuck_ ), kiss her goodbye (thank god she doesn’t seem weirded out by your whole _I love you looking out for me_ shit).

She hands you one of the cocoa joints, for Mituna. You. Fucking. Can’t. Deal. Why is she so fuckin’ thoughtful, wank-ass ho. You thank her profusely and she tells you to make it up to her next time and _ugh_ does she have to also be so fucking hot, too? On top of everything else?

She’s the best no-quadrant pal a girl could ask for.

You try to focus on the road and not memories of the last few hours as wheel the fuck down to Kurloz’s place.

*

Mituna meets you outside. He smirks when he sees you, then starts cackling.

“What?”

“Did you… get… _laid_?” He wheezes against the laughs. God, what a nerd, why is he so cute? And you could have just-

You gotta calm down. It’s easier to do with so much soporweed in your system.

(But really, you came so close to this being a problem, a weird fucking problem. But, double but, it’s fine, why can’t you just relax? It’s not like you’d lose both of them. Or either of them!

Hey, Latula @ Latula, quick Q: what the fuck is wrong with you?)

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Maybe.”

“You nasty nasty ho.”

“Nasty as hell.”

He holds his hand out for a high five, and you return it. “That’s so hot, babe.”

You grin uneasily and change the subject before he asks for details. He’d probably know better than to ask _here_ , but you can never be totally sure anymore. He forgets a lot of things he used to take for granted, and it bums him out. “Sorry in advance for being blazed out of my fucking mind? Like woah hella blazed.”

He cackles again. “Tularula, it’s Kurloz and Meuly, who g-g-g-g- _fuck_ , who fucking cares? They don’t, no way, chill.”

You smile, for real, not forced anymore. Cool. He’s so chill, best matespirit, you’re the luckiest duck. He’s also right, they are by far the least likely of anyone to care. It’d be weird if they _weren’t_ blitzed on soporweed.

“Imma way have to get them to share some of that sicknasty dank kush because like fuck hell abso-no am I gonna be sober when n-n-none of you are.”

“Oh shit! Yo!” You pull out the cigarette. “Por got this for you?”

“No shit? Shit- fuck- from her?”

“Yeah, for you, ain’t she thoughtful.”

He searches his pockets for a while before realizing he doesn’t have a lighter on him.

“C’mon, bet Kurloz has one.”

“Fuck, o-okay yeah okay of c-c-c-c- obvious yeah thanks.”

You’re finally starting to relax. Everything is fine. You got here on time, you gave Mituna a lil prezzie, you don’t smell like sex and ex and soporweed, and Tuna isn’t upset (why would he be?) and it’s all fucking perfect.

You kind of feel like you’re circling around the drain of something you don’t want to think about. But you don’t want to think about that, either. There’s so much actually rad shit to think about, like how fun this hangout is gonna be. Why waste time thinking about weird nebulous hypothetical nothing scenarios? Nah. That’s lame as hell, and you’re too cool for it.

You knock on the door, and then Kurloz opens it. Everything is fucking peachy, and that’s how it’s gonna stay.

**Author's Note:**

> i def have ideas but idk if theyre actually going to be good stories so i'll just say that this is meant to eventually line up meenahquest. meaning they eventually all figure out a way to keep it chill and not have it about to explode in their faces at any second


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